a sweater would have been nice
by samisaywhat
Summary: "Maybe he has hypothermia." Scott stage whispers to Derek, like the traitorous bastard he is. (continues the general themes of Club Soda, but can be read by itself.)


His pants have icicles on them. _Icicles_. What the fuck.

"They're frozen to my calves." Stiles observes, picking at the frozen pant legs in a mixture of annoyance and awe.

Boyd looks at him, his pants, and shrugs. In all honesty, Stiles can't say he expected any pity from him. Boyd isn't exactly mean, but he definitely doesn't coddle anyone, pack or not.

"Jesus—my shoelaces, too?" He's about to try and pull the laces free of their icy prison when Boyd grabs his wrist.

"Be quiet." He warns, not looking at Stiles at all. They've been sitting against a fallen tree for some time, waiting for Derek and Scott to come back, and hopefully tell them that the _thing_ freezing Beacon Hills to death is dead. Normally Stiles would be right there beside them to take on the newest monster of the week, but unfortunately the thing—Stiles was pretty sure he had seen a naked woman—attacked him first, blowing a cold breath onto his face and practically _freezing_ him. It was only a second before both Derek and Boyd came to his rescue, snarls startling the woman into retreating.

Stiles tries not to think about what another second of being frozen alive could have done to him. For once he didn't put up a fight when Derek growled out a "Stay here," leaving Boyd behind to keep guard in case the woman wants to finish her attempt at making Stiles a popsicle.

A freezing wind shoots out from within the trees, followed by an ear-shattering wail. Boyd covers his ears, groaning as he doubles over. The cry is painful even to Stiles' ears; he can't begin to understand what the werewolf must be experiencing. He reaches out a hand to try and comfort Boyd, but he violently shrugs it off.

Another scream, closer this time, seems to echo around them. A blur of black and white runs into the clearing, directly in their direction. Stiles can make out the face of the woman as she gets closer to them, black hair flowing behind her like a shadow. Her expression is frozen into a silent scream, blue lips stretched around her open mouth. She's completely naked, but Stiles can hardly pay attention to that when he's falling back in fear. It's like a scene from The Grudge.

Two more shapes burst out from the tree line, one giant black figure and a humanoid one beside it, running on all fours. Stiles crawls backwards on his palms and feet, trying to keep a good distance away from the approaching monster, at least until Derek and Scott can catch up to her. She runs right to the fallen tree, arms reaching out to catch herself against it. She proceeds to bend over it in the creepiest way possible, slowly lowering her head down to stare right at Boyd. He's still clutching his ears on the ground, unable to hear anything at all. She sucks in a heavy breath before blowing it back onto Boyd.

"Stop!" Stiles shouts at her, the need to protect someone overriding his fear. He shoots up to push her away, watching the skin on Boyd's hands turn pale and cold. The woman snaps her head up, turning her blank eyes and frozen breath onto Stiles. He stops immediately, body locking up under the assault of the cold wind. He has a moment to think "_Not again,"_ before it becomes painful. His body instinctively tries to curl in on itself, but the cold slows his movements and his body aches under the tension.

Derek and Scott finally make it to them, the former using his body as a battering ram to knock the woman over. He hits her hard, sending her flying across the clearing. Derek doesn't even hesitate before going after her, growling the entire time. Stiles doesn't miss the shards of ice on his fur as he passes by, or the way Scott is shivering as he checks on both Stiles and Boyd.

"I-I t-thought I was going deaf." Boyd mumbles weakly, finally prying his hands away from his ears.

"We didn't know she'd do that." Scott nods, unconsciously shifting closer to Boyd. He pulls Stiles between both of them, careful not to apply too much pressure to Stiles' cold and sensitive skin. The warmth from the two werewolves, who provide heat even though they're both shivering, is better than nothing.

Derek snarls, but Stiles can't see what's going on anymore. The woman doesn't scream, and he can only hear movement before the forest falls quiet again. For a moment he fears for Derek's safety, wondering if she was able to freeze him as well. It seemed to be a lot harder for her to affect the werewolves, but enough exposure to her breath might be enough to weaken them.

"D-Derek?" Stiles forces out, teeth clattering harshly. He doesn't get any answer, not even a word of reassurance from the betas.

Thankfully Derek jumps over the tree trunk, landing directly in front of the three of them. He looks especially huge to Stiles, who is shrunk in on himself in an attempt to keep the last remnants of heat safe in his body. Derek turns to face them, blowing out a harsh breath. The ice on his fur has mostly melted, which is more than Stiles can say about any of the ice on himself. He's certain his hair is frozen.

Scott makes a displeased sound when Derek starts crowding against them, moving away before Derek can growl at him to do so. He mumbles under his breath about Derek being ridiculous and overprotective. Scott looks up over the tree and confirms that the woman is dead, at least. Which is fantastic news to Stiles. He's had enough of the cold.

Derek gathers Stiles into his arms, pressing him against his furry chest. Stiles is immediately grateful, relishing in the warmth and softness of it all. He'd make fun of Derek's fur—does Derek _groom _himself?—but he doesn't want to piss Derek off just yet. Not until he's warmed up properly, at least.

"You need to get those off." Scott comes back over to them, crouching and gesturing to Stiles' clothing. It's currently a mixture of wet and frozen. Derek looks down at him as if he's just realizing the situation, but he doesn't let another second pass before he's pulling at Stiles' clothes with his giant paws.

It's not very effective, to the surprise of no one.

"I c-can do it mys-self." Stiles assures him, pulling at his clothes with weak and trembling fingers. It's difficult to peel the layers off of each other when the fabric is frozen together. His arms aren't exactly cooperating either, shaking and stiff with the need to be back against his body. Derek quickly grows frustrated with waiting, deciding to shred the shirts off of Stiles' body instead.

"F-fuck! I really liked that shirt!" Stiles shouts as Derek continues to rip both of them away. Stiles watches in anguish as his faded _Attack of the Killer Tomatoes_ shirt falls to the ground, ruined. Derek ignores him and pulls Stiles closer to his body, big arms wrapped around bare skin. If he wasn't so cold, Stiles would be putting up fight, just for the hell of it.

"What was that anyway?" Scott asks, turning to face Boyd.

"I don't know. I've read the bestiary, but I don't remember anything coming close to what she was." Boyd shrugs. "It's not completely translated, though."

"I'm working on that." Stiles mumbles, snuggling closer to Derek.

"You mean Lydia is." Scott points out, smirking.

"Hey," Stiles twists in Derek's grip to glare properly at Scott, "I help."

Derek growls, pulling Stiles back into place.

"He does make the PDF look nice. A step up from the old fonts in the book." Boyd acquiesces, just to shut Stiles up.

"Thank you!" Stiles yells, voice muffled from where his face is smushed up against Derek's chest.

"Maybe he has hypothermia." Scott stage whispers to Derek, like the traitorous bastard he is. The damn alpha actually has the audacity to look down at Stiles as if he's considering it before squeezing him tighter. He settles onto the floor even more to draw up his legs to cradle Stiles' body.

"I do not have hypothermia!" Stiles shouts in indignation. He's all for cuddling, but any tighter and he might actually suffocate.

"You can barely hear him," Boyd says wistfully.

"Barely." Scott agrees, just as wistful.

Stiles mumbles a handful of insults into Derek's chest and feels a little better when Derek huffs against him in silent laughter.


End file.
